


4ever

by spells



Series: diary 001 [5]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Coffee Shops, Fluff, Getting Together, Happy Ending, M/M, Slow Burn, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, date
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-22 01:56:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16588553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spells/pseuds/spells
Summary: am i gonna feel this way forever?





	4ever

**Author's Note:**

> hey, you guys! this is late again, sorry, but i've been busy. it's the final work, however! thank you for reading it all. (if you haven't read them all, thanks anyway!)
> 
> this work is part of series! it may work by itself, but as it's the ending, it's definitely better to read all instances. either way, enjoy!  
> title, summary and prompt come from clairo's song, 4ever  
> huge thanks to bee for being an awesome beta and reading through this whole series, check her out at [livennadin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/livennadin/pseuds/livennadin)  
> 

They should’ve picked up where they left off.

They didn’t; Shouyou went home, sent Kenma a text as soon as he got there ( _ im home! no need to worry! ( _ _ ￣▽￣ _ _ ) _ _ ノ)  _ and went to sleep. Kenma sat beside Keiji for another hour or two, watching their stupid teammates play card games and get their asses wet and dirty, sitting and rolling around on the grass. Eventually, he went home and went to bed.

The next morning, it was as if nothing had happened. All their exchanges went right back to casual, friend-like chatter. A lot of emoticons on Shouyou’s part, punctuation on Kenma’s; both of them knew, had to know that they’d crossed boundaries, that night in the streets of Tokyo. They had went somewhere they wouldn’t be capable of coming back from. Yet, there they were, ignoring the whopping truth, ignoring the broken chains, ignoring the burning warmth that had lit a cigarette.

The days have been getting colder, so Kenma puts on the beanie he bought that night. Not to reminisce, necessarily, or to prove – to whom, he won’t answer – that all of that happened. That it was real. That he shared a smoke with Shouyou, watched him cough, giggle, and talk. He can look at the pack of menthols in his drawer, see that the single hole turned into three, and that’s all the proof he needs.

He looks at himself in the mirror, knowing he’ll feel cold even wrapped in several layers. It’s not even winter yet, and he’s already like this. At least he’s getting coffee, he thinks, and it makes him grow warm, menacingly, dangerously so. He plays with the fire, turns the embers with a poker.

Kenma checks his phone a couple of times on the way, once in the station near his house and once when he gets off the train. He does it to make sure he’s going to the right place, mostly, but that isn’t an explanation good enough to clarify why he spends those extra seconds reading, re-reading, re-re-reading the texts Shouyou sent him. Trying to find something hidden in the pixels.

He hates the fact that it’s so difficult to read Shouyou. It’s not, and it shouldn’t be, because the boy is loud and honest and won’t make the effort of lying or tricking someone. He’s crystal clear, transparent. And yet –  _ and yet  _ – Kenma, Nekoma’s brain, the quiet boy who aces most of his exams, he can’t seem to comprehend what Shouyou means, and what he feels. It’s the worst thing ever. He hates it, he hates it.

One thing he knows, or that he guesses, is that Shouyou’s in town just to see him. It’s a little scary, for him to make such an initiative, for him to make all the initiatives. He’s here, probably sitting in a café booth and worrying, like he always does. Stomach grumbling, eyebrows furrowed, tapping his foot.

Kenma grows a little warmer, and wonders if he should take off his coat. The warmth irradiates from his chest, making it so hiking his sleeves up will do no good. He buries himself deeper inside his nest outfit, and groans.

Ultimately, he finds the café. It’s cute and seems cosy, all white walls and clean wood furniture. There are touches of black here and there – the leather of the seats, the glass on top of the counter, the tables’ centrepieces -, making everything very fine and sleek. Minimalistic. Kenma has yet to learn how Shouyou found out about this place, but it seems nice; he hopes it isn’t too pricey.

Before entering, he searches for the boy through the glass front. The coffee shop is full with young people, teens and young adults. Everyone is stylish, hip and cool. He feels out of place, feels his old knitted sweater scratch his arms under his jacket.

He finds Shouyou, already looking at him expectantly. Flushed cheeks, huge grin, tousled hair.

It’s been a while.

Everything comes rushing back, flames so uncontrollable he almost melts onto the pavement. The wind keeps him in place, solidifies his skin. Kenma’s heart flutters, and stomach dips. He feels many things, some of them he doesn’t even recognise, and it’s overwhelming.

There’s no denying this, now. It’s terrible. He can’t ignore the way his fingers shake – with the cold, he tells himself, but he doesn’t believe it for a second – when he pushes open the café door, and the way the bell’s jingle makes him jump. He walks to Shouyou, taking everything in at once, and he feels a single step away from short-circuiting.

“Kenma!” Shouyou greets, voice bright, energetic, and electric. The light floods his skin, burning Kenma from a distance. “Hi!”

“Hey, Shouyou,” he says quietly, sliding into the booth, sliding off his coat and his scarf. He hesitates to take his beanie off, hesitates to call attention to it. To him, it feels like an eternity passes from the moment he folds his scarf and the moment he reaches up to pull his beanie off. It was probably just a couple of seconds.

He doesn’t lift his eyes off the table, off the various spots where he’s clutching the beanie alarmingly tight. He doesn’t know whether he wants to see the look on Shouyou’s face.

“Kenma, your hair – your roots!” Finally, Kenma looks up, and Shouyou’s gaze shifts from the top of his head, to his eyes. “You redyed them! I thought you weren’t going to.”

“I did, though,” he mutters, and swallows. His heart is hammering in his chest, evasive, trying to break out of his ribcage one way or another. The smoke pours up through his throat, clouds his brain. He can’t see, he can’t breathe.

Shouyou looks the same, and absurdly different. His eyes are still bright and big, like the sun, but they’re duller now. Which fits, he thinks, considering the way fall’s ending outside the café. His nose and cheeks are redder, flushed, and his hair is longer, although just as messy. It flops in curlier locks, now, crumpled in more of a shape than before. Doesn’t stick out as much, anymore. Looks softer.

“How have you been?” Shouyou asks, grin making place for a gentler, smaller smile. Earnest. Mild. Who is he?

“Fine. Good, I guess – school is all right. You?”

“Good! Training’s going really well, Kenma, I think we’re actually getting really good, and…”

It’s funny, how they both stop when their eyes meet. However, it’s embarrassing how they both look away with red cheeks. Cliché, and stupid, and embarrassing; Kenma rather hates it. He can feel his heart pumping its way out of his chest, an earthquake in and of itself.

The silence is terrifying, even if it’s not silence at all; the coffee shop doesn’t stop around them, bustling. People ordering beverages and the constant hum of the machines, the low conversation in booths and tables all throughout the place. Nothing’s quiet, but the quietude is deafening.

“And?” He encourages, leading Shouyou back to where he stopped.

“We might beat you next time. I mean, not might – we will. You’ll be devastated, Kenma, you’ll see!”

“I don’t doubt it,” Kenma says, the ghost of a smile on his lips. He can’t bear the conversation to die again, though, so he prods, “How did you find out about this place?”

“Oh! Did I not tell you?” Shouyou tilts his head, and Kenma blows at the fire, no water around him to put it out. Shouyou is far too cute, which is excessively unfair; spending time face-to-face has become deadly, and Kenma needs to stop this in any way he can. “Suga-senpai told me about it! He mentioned he used to have to come to Tokyo a whole lot, and told me I might like coming here! Well, uh…”

Kenma doesn’t say anything – doesn’t think he can. He stays attentive and mute, waits for Shouyou to keep going.

“Uh, he- he told me it might be nice to bring someone here. If, if that was the reason why I was coming. Which, well, it kinda is.”

Shouyou’s flaming, right now. Not only because of the way he makes Kenma feel warm, but also because of how cherry-red his face has gone. His head is low, staring through the table, cheeks scarily pink, posture worryingly curved in. Kenma wants to say something, wants to reassure him, but he’s bad at this. He’s never been good with words, with feelings. He opens his mouth to say something, but he doesn’t get the chance to.

“Bathroom, I’ll- be right back,” Shouyou offers before he dashes away.

Kenma stuffs his face into his hands as soon as the boy leaves, feeling like he’s done everything wrong. He’s supposed to say things, to be open about his feelings, to accept the undeniable – he sticks his hands into the fire, digs through the ashes,  _ undeniable  _ – truth. Being with Shouyou makes him feel like this, and God, is it too much. It’s also so good; he never wants to stop feeling it.

He gives himself a moment. A moment to think of what to say, how to say it - how to say anything, because he doesn’t feel like he’s even capable of forming words. He brings the image of Shouyou to his mind and, despite how his stomach flips and his heart climbs laboriously up to his throat, forces himself to think of him.

It might be forced, but it isn’t an effort. He’s thinking of Shouyou all the time, now, and it’s a burden. Everything related to him, too. Thinking of how his hair curls and points everywhere naturally, and how sweating makes that more intense and unabashed. Thinking of how his mouth dips slightly to the left, pulling a little more to one side than the other. Thinking of how his hands look small and thin, and wondering whether they’re warm. Wondering if he’d like to spend a night watching Kenma’s favourite movies. Wondering whether he would be into going on a date like in all of the dramas that are always on TV. Wondering how he kisses, how he feels.

Things like that. Unhealthy, unstoppable thoughts that seem to be ever-present, nowadays.

Kenma needs to take initiative. He knows that. He’s been functioning inside of himself for months now, while Shouyou was doing everything for the both of them. He’s done with this. If he doesn’t do something, he’s never getting anywhere.

Another few minutes pass before Shouyou comes back. Enough time for Kenma to order a tall glass of iced tea that comes quickly and to start sipping on it to ease his nerves.

“Hi. Sorry for that,” Shouyou mumbles, still looking red and agitated.

Now. Kenma has to say something, now; he has to. It’s his moment, his opportunity. Nothing’s stopping him. He just has to open his mouth, and-

“Oh, you got tea! I forgot to order anything,” Shouyou says, a nervous giggle the background to his voice. “I should get something, um, let me see…” He grabs the menu and starts to flip through it, the paper too small to hide him in any way, the pages too few to keep him properly busy.

Kenma can feel him tapping his foot under the table. Can see him rolling his tongue around in his mouth, licking his lips. Because he’s tense. He’s at his breaking point, jumpy and skittish, and Kenma wonders if saying anything will soothe his uneasiness or tear him apart.

It’s now or never.

_ “pleasegooutwithme,”  _ he mumbles, courage failing him and voice quieter than it’s ever been. His heart is racing, but he’s far calmer than Shouyou. He just can’t speak. It’s not nervousness that makes him like this. It’s insecurity and fear.

“Huh?” Shouyou raises his head. Eyes wide, mouth parted. He’s looking at Kenma, staring. Gaze unwavering.

He might pass out from this. His heartbeat is so fast, it’s almost an unyielding thrum.

“Please…”

Kenma doesn’t feel brave enough. He feels burnt. It’s too hot, and he’s not working properly. He takes a deep breath. Shouyou does, too, and although his shoulders don’t relax, his face eases a little, and it’s good enough. It lessens the fire a little bit.

“Please go out with me, Shouyou.”

Time stops. Which sounds stupid, of course, and another one of the clichés Kenma can’t seem to escape from. Shouyou freezes so badly, becomes so still, that the first hypothesis that comes to mind is the actual stopping of time.

He discreetly looks around to make sure that isn’t it. It isn’t.

Shouyou doesn’t say anything, mouth wide open and eyes even wider. He looks disbelieved, and shocked, and all the uncertainties that have been nagging at Kenma for months, for years, forever, come rushing back in and take over his brain.

He was foolish to say any of this, foolish to hope, foolish to believe his feelings were mutual. Shouyou probably hates him, now. Thinks he’s a weirdo, a gross joke that he shouldn’t have ever become friends with.

Kenma puts on his beanie with shaky hands, and moves to get his coat.

“Y-yeah.”

He turns, and looks at Shouyou, who looks more normal now. Eyes glittering, warm like the sun, and grin achingly huge. He’s so handsome, Kenma thinks, and so good. Straight out of a dream.

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah, Kenma, of course I will!” Shouyou scrunches his nose, and looks around. “I didn’t think you’d want to.”

“I- Really?”

“You’re not the easiest person to read, I don’t know if you know that, Kenma. You’re not very expressive. I could swear I was nurturing the biggest, most hopeless one-sided crush ever-”

Kenma reaches for Shouyou’s hand, still on the menu across the table. It’s just as small and thin as he’d expected, but also warm – as he had hoped – and calloused. It fits nicely with his. He can’t stop looking at the way they meet and intertwine.

Shouyou chuckles, and Kenma looks back up at him. Within an instant, the chuckle grows into a full laugh, a guffaw. Loud and truthful and overflowing with joy. It pulls a chuckle out of Kenma, and a toothy smile.

“I’m so happy, Kenma,” Shouyou admits, after a while.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. Very.”

Kenma looks at their hands, and sighs. He sits next to the flames, now, taking in the warmth pleasantly, watching them in all their beauty. They don’t burn him anymore.

“Me too.”

**Author's Note:**

> talk to me: [twitter](https://twitter.com/karasunya) | [tumblr](http://gymthree.tumblr.com/)  
> thank you for reading, either this piece, or the series! kudos, comments and bookmarks are awesome, and i'd be endlessly thankful if you left some!


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